


John's realization

by tardisswimmingpool



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisswimmingpool/pseuds/tardisswimmingpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is trying to ween himself from the adventure he craves with Sherlock, but a trip to Bakerstreet causes him to realize how lonely Sherlock is without him and how much he himself couldn't live without him. One-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's realization

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write a whole lot of Johnlock,and, recognizing that John is married now, I wanted to revert back to the idea of two best friends that love eachother so much that they know they can't be together. Therefore, there's no actual sexual contact. I apologize for the crappy writing, it's been awhile since i have written anything. I hope you like it.

The traffic was hell to say the least, but John wasn’t going to ignore another text from London’s most annoying detective.

It was 2 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, and John’s office was closed for, as he put it, “an afternoon of relaxation and Telly”. Mary had gone out to the grocery, and little Alice was busying herself by sucking on the end of one of her toys. John was beginning a well-deserved nap when his cell phone started buzzing uncontrollably with Sherlock’s face lighting up every five seconds. By the time the contraption ceased its tantrum, there was 15 unanswered messages, and John was heading out the door. 

John had asked his neighbor to watch Alice and texted his wife that there was an emergency at 221b. Mary responded with a wink face which told John that she wasn’t buying it. He didn’t blame her. An emergency on Bakerstreet meant usually one thing-Sherlock was bored. He told her he’d be home later and sat back for the cab ride across town to his old flat.

It was raining out and cabs were backed up from a hydroplaning accident. It seemed like everyone was out to get to one place or another, but, when John finally arrived on Bakerstreet, the road was pretty much dead. Very few people were out walking, only a handful in the cafe, and John’s cab was the only one of the street. The car parked in front of “Holmes Manor”, and John pulled his coat over his head to protect his hair from the rain. 

“Good day, Sir,” the cabby said and drove off. 

Mrs. Hudson answered the door as usual and welcomed him inside, suggesting a cup of tea to warm him up. Dr. Watson was always up for tea, as long as sugar wasn’t included, so he accepted the offer with open arms. 

It had been several days since John’s last visit, but he was always at a loss for words when Mrs. Hudson began her usual conversation starter.

“You haven’t been around much lately, what’s been going on?” she spoke without making eye contact as she stirred some honey into her tea. 

“Oh, you know...I’ve been backed up at the office.”

“Oh, John, you're never going to get anywhere in life by spending so much time in an office.”

Here we go again. 

“Well, Mrs. Hudson, I can’t exactly run away from my job every time Sherlock misplaces a pencil. I’m a doctor. I have patients.”

“I’m not asking you to, hun, I’m just saying that perhaps you could make your visits a little less spread apart. Stop by after you close up, entertain him a bit. He’s so lonely these days. All he does is mope about, and it’s not pleasant.”

“I’m sure a case will come about. When I lived here, we would sometimes wait weeks before something interesting popped up. Most of the time I’d sit in my room reading while he composed, or he’d analyze people he saw through the window.”

“He hasn’t been taking any cases.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to ask. He’s seems depressed, John. That Moriarty thing was months ago, and there’s been no leads since then. It’s left him in a slump, and, without you around, all he does is sit and stare at the wall.”

“He’s been texting me for days.”

“Go talk to him then. Some social interaction might do him some good.”

As much as John would’ve preferred to just return home and pretend he never even stopped by, Mrs. Hudson was relentless. He finished his tea and made his way up the familiar staircase to the lair of Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh, John, nice of you to show. I want your opinion on something,” he made no indication of even seeing John as he walked in, but, knowing Sherlock, there was probably something such as walking patterns or some other odd way of telling that his colleague had arrived. 

John sighed. 

“What do you think of putting new curtains in here?”

“Curtains?”

“Mrs. Hudson believes it’s too monotonous in here. I thought I might redecorate.” 

“Monotonous?”

“It’s just kinda dull, don’t you think?”

“Well it’s never bothered you before.”

“It never struck me before, but now it’s starting to look rather boring. What do you think?”

“You called me all the way across town to ask me about curtains?”

“Well when you put it that way."

It didn't seem like there was a way to beat the inevitable, so John took his usual spot in his old armchair by the fireplace. Sherlock was lying on the couch in his bathrobe with a book on his stomach and a pencil behind his ear, but he showed no intention of continuing work on whatever it was that he had been doing before John arrived. Instead he sat up and examined the doctor. 

"You were sitting at home trying relax, but the chair was rickety so whenever you leaned back it creaked and the baby would get agitated. So you gave the baby a toy to distract it and started falling asleep. Your phone kept vibrating but you wouldn't answer it probably because you had an intense feeling it was me or perhaps patients that do not read when it says the office is closed which makes you regret giving away your personal number.Your first instinct was correct which expedited your guilt that you haven't been here in several days. Or perhaps you were restless from being left alone with the baby while your wife escaped for an hour at the market. You find a caretaker for the child and rush over here through traffic only to get stuck in a conversation with Mrs. Hudson which leads you up here for an intervention, am I wrong?" 

"What makes you think this is an intervention?" 

"Well, there's that way your eyebrows..."

"Don't," John restrained himself, "Don't start. You heard me and Mrs. Hudson talking, didn't you?"

"For future reference, I suggest that if something is to be kept secret from someone upstairs that you whisper so said person won't be able to hear everything you say. But I suppose that makes things easier for me. Less brain power wasted." 

"Look, Sherlock, the thing is..." 

"Mrs. Hudson," he interrupted, "thinks that I am lonely."

"She also says you haven't been taking cases. That's not like you."

"Tedious. All of em'. Not worth me leaving the flat. I can solve half those cases by looking at the shoes of the people involved." 

"That's...that's impressive," there wasn't much else to say, but, despite John's annoyance, it was the truth. 

"Textbook." 

"Have..." no good way of putting it came to mind, but John persisted, "have you ever thought about getting away from here? Just for a little bit. Clear your mind."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't just go for a stroll through London, John." 

"Ok, well, what about Lestrade? Surely buzzing around a crime scene will..."

"Lestrade is in the middle of another domestic. I don't fancy being a therapist."

"What about your brother?"

"John, do I have to remind you that I hate Mycroft, and he's also the head of pretty much everything in this country."

"Ok, there's no way around this, so I'm just going to say it," John let out a breath, "Sherlock, I'm married with a kid. I'm a doctor, I have patients. I have bills to pay, I can't just be wandering around London with you on some crime-solving fantasy trip every day. Do I miss it, yes, ok, I do. However, I have priorities, and right now my priority is my family. I have the responsibility to protect them."

"Yes, and your wife pretty much is the definition of the danger you want to protect your daughter from. Face it, John, you live for the unpredictable excitement of life."

"And you live for the pain of others. Have you ever thought about anything but yourself? Have you ever thought about how much I've suffered, how much I've sacrificed? And for what, for you to sit here wallowing in self pity?"

"I'm not wallowing." 

"Ok, stop, please, just stop. I'm tired of this. Just admit it, you miss me. You've spent your whole life alone, and, for whatever reason, I am the only person you have been able to connect to. And I cannot deny that you have become a major part of my life that I am reluctant to let go of. I live for adventure. But sometimes the story has to come to an end. Will there be a sequel? I hope so, but I can't guarantee anything right now." 

"Sequels lack backbone. Storylines fall apart, things become unmanageable. Everything relies on that internal hold on the past."

"And that leaves room for an even worse third story. That's my point, Sherlock. We both have our own futures to focus on." 

"But what am I supposed to do without my blogger?" 

"I don't know what you want me to do here, Sherlock. I honestly don't. But I got to get home for Alice. She gets rowdy when we leave her for too long. Because she's a real baby," John couldn't help but sneak in a grin, but he was serious. 

He stood up, brushing the dust off of his trousers, only to sway his attention to the fact that there was very little. The room was not nearly as dusty as usual. Sherlock never cleaned so a normal trip to 221b Bakerstreet would result in the departure of a furry grey cloud that dissipated once a cab blew a gust of wind. Not only that but the room normally was lost in a sea of books and experiments, but all of the detective's "toys" and papers had been neatly stacked and placed on shelves to clear a pathway for John to actually walk. He never let Mrs. Hudson touch his things, so this phenomenon could only mean that some force had caused Sherlock to use his own willpower to clean up. This was worse than Dr. Watson had anticipated. 

"You cleaned?"

"Well you know, the room...it was a bit cluttered. Just thought I..."

"You idiot," John sighed.

His next action was more of a spur of the moment incident as he reached forward to give the other man a hug. Sherlock normally wreaked of formaldehyde or cigarette smoke which were two of the things he would tinker around with when he was depressed, but, to John's further amazement, he smelled like lavender and honey. He had showered. John took in the smell and remembered all the times he had prevented himself from touching Sherlock. He felt odd, a good odd. He had always felt it. He felt guilty about it, so he never told anybody, but he always had a soft spot for Sherlock. More than just a soft spot really. He was his weakness. 

"John," he had never heard Sherlock whisper before, "I am lonely."

"I know." 

Life was never going to be boring for John, he knew that. It was silly to think that he could live without Sherlock by his side because the truth was he had taught him so many things that he wasn't ready to forget. One of which being, he loved him. 

Although kissing his friend wasn't an option, John thought about it. He thought about it a lot. And Sherlock did too. 

"I'll come by next week," John said, "And please take care of yourself. Throw some stuff on the floor, mess up your hair, go back to being Sherlock. This...this is not decent."

"Ah, John, when have I ever been decent?"


End file.
